Clash of Arms
by Jade Hunter
Summary: The enemy may be the least of TC's problems as tensions run high and dissent rises in the ranks. [Max x Zack] [Alec x Original] [Syl x Krit] [Originals x Originals]
1. Tension

**Title:** Clash of Arms

**Author:** Jade Hunter

**Disclaimer:** Dark Angel and all its characters and properties do not belong to me. However, some of the characters here a originals, and though I can't legally claim anything or anyone – since fanfiction itself is quite illegal – I would like it if people asked before using them.

**A.N:** This is the sequel to _Remember to Forget_ and _Breaking the News_. Takes place after **_Freak Nation_.**

**A.N.2:** Well, I'm finally doing something with this again, though I'm not sure what. My plans for it have changed somewhat.

* * *

As he watched a few transgenics mill around aimlessly – some looking lost, others frustrated – in the main lobby of Headquarters, Alec felt a shiver of unease flow through him.

When it came down to it, Terminal City had been an excellent idea. Transgenics of all shapes and sizes roamed comfortably in the sector, many of them elated to be amongst their own kind. Interactions with others were polite, in the crisp and abrupt manner they were most comfortable with, and, for the most part, there was little to no conflict between individuals.

The main problem came from a certain group of transgenics – highly influential, if not large in number.

The group of problematic transgenics ranged from X series to anomalies to others specifically engineered for maximum survival in one type of extreme climate or another. They had two things in common; they were all transgenics, and they were all primary alphas or secondary alphas, from both genders.

It was no surprise that Terminal City housed them – alphas, that is. With the population increasing every day, it made sense, especially since the survival rate for alphas was higher than that of normal transgenics, having been bred for leadership.

Created for that specific purpose.

The primaries were the actual alphas, the Commanding Officers back in Manticore. Secondaries had, of course, been the 2ICs, back up if the primaries fell in battle or became unfit for duty in the field. Thirty transgenics had made up a unit; each unit had two primary alphas, male and female, and two secondary alphas, also a male and female, leading them at all times.

The source of their leadership instincts was not in any of the extra training they received – it was in their genes.

Whatever animal DNA they had in their cocktails, they had the best of the best. If they had wolf DNA, they had the alpha DNA. If they had feline DNA, they had the DNA from the most dominant cats. It was in their very instincts to be more aggressive, in order to protect their units, their prides, their packs.

The more common soldiers – soldiers like Alec, Gem, Dalton, Dix, and the rest – couldn't understand why transgenics like Mole seemed so eager to fight. They knew that the former leaders felt it, but couldn't fully comprehend the reasons for it, couldn't understand why they didn't resist and suppress their instincts.

Also known was that the alpha group did not like Terminal City being led by Max. It wasn't that she was an '09er – though many of the other transgenics didn't like this fact at all – or even because she toted around those ordinaries.

It was because she was underqualified.

So she made a pretty speech; big fat fucking deal. What counted was action, and, so far, Max had done little to nothing to improve their situation.

They were running low on supplies and barely had adequate power and water. The majority of the citizens of Terminal City were feeling useless as well, since Max only trusted the few people in her private group of friends to go out on supply runs, which increased the lack of supplies problem. She also preached constantly about not harming ordinaries, something many transgenics openly scoffed at, and talked about learning how to be "normal" and what to do to "fit in".

The alphas did not like this; they were transgenics and damn proud of it, even if they hated the fact that they had been enslaved, for all intents and purposes, for most of their lives. They didn't want to change the way they were, or to behave like an ordinary, because they, like all people, had an inherent need to be accepted for who they truly were.

With these disgruntled feelings, the alphas spread their dissent amongst the ranks with the speed of a brush fire. It was easy, for the most part, to convince others into seeing their way, as most transgenics had been under their commands for years.

It was a subtle effort, though not invisible, yet something Max was completely oblivious to. She had escaped before the alphas had truly established themselves, had only grown up with primaries and secondaries who had yet to come into their instincts and leadership. It was inconceivable to her that anyone would try to undermine her efforts as leader, because, to her, anyone could be a leader, if they had what it took.

She believed she had what it took.

The alphas knew that she did not.

It lay mostly on Alec to be the go-between, because of his situation as her sometimes-friend, sometimes-scapegoat. Still, Alec could not deny that the alphas had a point – a good one – and that they were quickly gaining more support every day.

There was a silent tension in Terminal City, a tension that grew stronger with each day that passed.

* * *

From her corner booth, Elsa picked at the meager remains of her very early breakfast. Though she wanted to keep moving, it was the small television mounted on the ceiling of the small roadside diner that made her linger. Her enhanced ears caught every word that the news reporter spewed out, and her sharp eyes picked out the little details in the scene of the report.

The reporter was just like any other, made up, sprayed, and powdered until no vestige of natural skin or hair color was visible. This one was female, which made things worse. However, she was also one of those news reporters that worked for the more respected channels – which meant the things she said and reported were probably true, though angled to draw in viewers.

_"As dawn breaks on this, the third day of the siege at Terminal City, the situation is tense but unchanged. While several hundred transgenics remain barricaded inside the restricted area, police and National Guard stand an uneasy watch at the perimeter-each side seemingly waiting to see what the other will do next."_

_'So much for the Promised Land,'_ she thought wryly. It was great irony when the only safe haven for transgenics was surrounded by a horde of ordinaries, armed and willing –_ 'eager,'_ she amended – to use them

"You done with that, honey?"

Elsa glanced up at the middle-aged waitress that was standing at her table, her hair in vivid red curls, her peach uniform clashing badly with her lime green sneakers. Still, the woman wore a friendly smile on her face, not the least angry or irritated that she and her husband – the cook – had a customer so early in the morning.

For that, Elsa was grateful, and decided to mind her manners. "Yes," she replied. "Thank you."

Nodding, the waitress picked up the empty plate, balancing it expertly on one hand while she dug in the pocket of her apron for the bill. It was set down unobtrusively on the table, and the waitress slipped away, as quietly as she had come.

Well, quiet for a human, that is.

Picking up the check, Elsa eyed the amount she owed, and calculated how much that would take from her reserve of stolen money – or, what was left of it, since she had begun her trek to Seattle a week ago. Having no vehicle of her own, not wanting the trouble she'd eventually find if she stole someone's car or motorcycle, she had been making her way across the states by hitchhiking and walking. The reason she was taking far longer than she would have, had she access to some kind of transportation.

Still, the bill wasn't much, and she only ate once a day, to save her money. She would pay.

Leaving the bill on the table, Elsa dug into the pocket of her jeans and took out her wad of cash, which was significantly smaller than when she first got it.

She flipped until she found a five, then placed it on top of the check, along with two ones. After a moment, she took the ones back and laid down another five, in thanks for the friendly hospitality at a time when suspicions ran rampant, as well as an apology for coming in so early.

When the waitress had come back from depositing the dirty dish, all she found was the money and the bill, no young woman in sight.

* * *

TBC…


	2. Mobilization

**Title:** Clash of Arms

**Author: **Jade Hunter

**Disclaimer:** Dark Angel and all its characters and properties do not belong to me. However, some of the characters here a originals, and though I can't legally claim anything or anyone – since fanfiction itself is quite illegal – I would like it if people asked before using them.

**A.N:** Yes, finally, another chapter! Sorry for making everyone wait so long, that is, if anyone is still even reading DA fics, lol. Oh, and many thoughts about Max will be unkind ones in this chapter, and in other chapters in the future; this is not because I hate Max, it's because I consider everyone loving everything she does totally unrealistic.

* * *

He didn't blame Eyes Only. 

Really, he didn't.

Sure, the guy had exposed all of them in a misguided attempt for revenge – it hadn't taken Syl and Krit long to connect the dots between Logan Cale and Eyes Only – but damn it all, even Andy could understand love and hate and the burning need to cause hurt. Especially that burning need.

No, the blame for this entire debacle landed squarely on Max. She had gotten that human involved in something he had absolutely no right to even know about, had made him feel something for her that could never be, and had exposed them all in the process.

Andy wondered if Max even cared.

If Jondy could hear his thoughts, she would have slapped him upside the head, but even Jondy couldn't deny that Max had ruined their lives.

Just three years ago, they had all been fine. Sure, they'd had Manticore on their tails, looked constantly over their shoulders for danger, and could never form permanent attachments because of periodic relocation, but it was better than this. Now, there were millions of people after their asses, people who didn't give a shit how much they were worth, people who didn't want to capture them, but wanted to exterminate them.

As the days passed, transgenic lynching was becoming increasingly common – _lynching,_ for fuck's sake! Looking over shoulders wasn't good enough anymore; a transgenic had to have eyes in the back of his damn head if he wanted to live to see another day.

And all of it had started when Zack had found Max. They had been ecstatic, and they had been fools. But how were they to know that their wide-eyed younger sister had become the harbinger of their doom?

Andy sighed, whiskey-colored eyes checking the fuel gauge.

Maybe he was being too harsh. It wasn't as if Max had planned this just to spite them. In fact, Max had probably never dreamed that anything like this could happen. But Andy was sure that Max had a brain in that head of hers, and he was damn well positive that it was a good brain, considering that she had been genetically engineered.

And it made him wonder just what the hell was wrong with her.

* * *

He had been heading to the post office when he first saw her. 

She had caught his eye because this was a small-town farming community and strangers were easy to spot.

But then he looked at her, really _looked_, and was surprised. Not because she was beautiful – which she was, with her arching brows, slim build, and cheekbones he'd bet many women would kill for. No, that didn't matter, not to him; he only noted her beauty clinically in passing, then concentrated on the feeling of familiarity that welled up in him at the sight of her.

He knew her, recognized her from somewhere.

It was that thought which had him jogging across the middle of the street to talk to her. He reached out a hand to tap her on the shoulder, get her attention –

And found his hand caught in an iron grasp, steel-grey eyes glinting dangerously at him.

Steely eyes glared at him. He shook his hand free from her iron grasp, grunting an approval of the quick reflexes. She eyed him uncertainly, then blinked, recognition flashing in her stormy grey eyes.

The quick flash of what could only be memory startled him, and he came back to reality, gazing at the statuesque stranger in astonishment – he _did_ know her! Had, in fact, met her before!

She had the same look of uncertainty as in his memory, and gazed at him with anger and something like fear. That startled and hurt him for some reason he didn't understand. Suddenly, her eyes clouded, then cleared, and recognition flashed in her eyes again. The anger and fear drained away, relieving him as she tilted her head slightly, narrowing her eyes in careful regard.

She nodded, as if something had fallen into place, and said, "Zack."

He blinked at her abrupt tone, and he realized that he had expected her voice to sound…gentler, kinder. Warmer. "What?"

"Zack," she repeated slowly, his response throwing her off, "is it you?"

The prospect of denial didn't even cross his mind. Instead, before he knew it, he was nodding, telling her that he was this Zack.

And maybe he was.

Zack. It felt familiar. It felt right. He felt it, in his bones, something inside of him recognizing the name as _his_, the way Adam had never been his.

She smiled widely, relieved, and was hugging him in the next moment. His arms automatically went around her for a brief squeeze before he pulled away; that, too, was familiar, both the hug and the uneasiness he felt at having someone so much in his personal space.

"I was worried," she said.

That, again, felt familiar, felt so completely typical of her, and he smiled because he really did know her.

Whoever she was.

* * *

Uncomfortable silence reigned in the apartment. 

_Maybe,_ Zane thought from his sprawled position on his couch,_ if Dan talked a little, it wouldn't be so bad._

But, of course, Dan was Dan, and kept stubbornly silent, stewing in his emotional juices by himself, perched on Zane's windowsill, keeping a lookout for Andy.

Personally, Zane didn't understand why Dan was so moody all the time, or what the point in getting angry was. Okay, so Max had made a mistake, revealing their secret to her human boyfriend, and had indirectly exposed all of them. But getting angry and holding grudges didn't change anything, and that was where Zane's personality differed from his younger brother's – drastically, it seemed.

Really, there wasn't much he had in common with Dan, now that he thought about it.

Both of them were Manticore-bred, of course, both were '09 escapees andX5 males in their very early-twenties, and both had devastating blue eyes. But where Zane's eyes devastated with laughter and light, Dan's eyes devastated with brooding and shadows. Where Dan's hair was dark and curly, Zane's hair was blond and stuck up every which way in wild spikes. Dan's face – really, Dan's entire physique – was longer and leaner, because Zane resembled Zack more in that department, being broad-shouldered and obviously muscled.

Zane lived to make others smile.

Dan lived to teach people the meaning of minding one's own business.

It was a wonder they got along as well as they did, although that was mostly because Zane took all of Dan's bad moods with a cheerful smile and a pat on the back that disgruntled the other.

But that was during normal conditions. The past day and a half, since Dan had come up from Texas on Andy's orders, had been filled with tension and stiff silence. Dan was more liable to bite off heads than usual, and, sensing that, Zane had been more subdued than usual.

Zane couldn't wait for Andy to get here already and pick them up. At least when they reached Seattle, Dan could either blow up at Max or let it go.

He snorted at the thought; Dan would never let it go. His younger brother was one stubborn, pig-headed son-of-a-bitch. Although he would never say that to Dan's face, since Dan was also prone to terrifying fits of temper and, consequently, violence.

Sighing, Zane checked his watch; "You want something to eat?"

Dan merely grunted.

Unfortunately, despite all of his considerable natural talents,Zane had notcome equipped with a Dan-translator, and failed to understand if that meant "yes" or "no" or "shut the hell up".

Knowing Dan, it was probably the last one.

Sighing again, Zane mentally urged Andy to drive faster.

* * *

Her cell phone rang. 

Switching off the radio, she flipped it open, "Yeah?"

"It's me," Andy said, his voice crackling with bad reception. "What's your position?"

"Chill," she told him, her tone easy and light. "I'm almost there. You?"

Andy grunted, "I'm parking the car now. I drove as fast as I could without going over the limit. It's been almost two days, and you know Dan."

She laughed loudly and without reservations. "Yeah. Even Zane won't be able to stand him for much longer."

"I'm hoping things won't come to blows until I get there," Andy sighed. "I don't know how…"

She sobered. From the abrupt way Andy had trailed off, she knew that he was thinking about one person in particular, "Zack?"

"Yeah," he admitted. "I never knew how hard he had it. I mean, I guessed a bit, but…if he comes back, I swear I'll never give him a hard time again."

_You and me both,_ she thought, but said aloud, "When. When he comes back."

Andy was silent for a moment, and she knew that he didn't really think that. But she didn't stop hoping, because with Manticore burned down, Zack was probably somewhere out there, searching for them right this moment. Because that was Zack. She refused to believe otherwise, especially when Max, who Syl and Krit had reported KIA, was alive and kicking it in Seattle. If Max had survived, there could be no doubt that Zack had made it. Because that was Zack.

Swerving the steering wheel sharply, she changed several lanes, giving the finger to drivers who honked angrily at her for cutting them off. "Yeah, up yours!" she yelled out her open window.

"Do I want to know?" Andy asked, sounding resigned.

"Can't help it if some people can't drive," she defended. She peered at the approaching sigh above the freeway and said, "Are you sure about this?"

"What?"

"Bringing Jace."

"You don't trust her?" Andy sounded surprised.

She hurried to correct him, "Nah, it's not that. Zack wouldn't have brought her in if he thought she wasn't clean. It's just…it ain't gonna be pretty in Seattle, Andy. And she has a kid."

"I know," he replied, and from the quiet way he said it, she knew that he really _did_ know. Had probably thought about it endlessly. Ah, the burdens of leadership. "But we have no choice. Case is safe where he is since Charlie's an ordinary. It seems like X5 offspring aren't born with barcodes, which is something - the most anyone'll make of Case is that he's a child prodigy or something. Jace, on the other hand, does have a barcode, and is a danger to both herself and her son. They'll be better off with us, especially since she doesn't want to be kept out of the loop."

She made a noise of agreement, and they were both quiet for a while, but neither hung up.

Finally, she spoke again, "Two miles to the border. What's the guy's name?"

"Jace said his name was Raoul," Andy answered, then added about Zane and Dan, "They didn't kill each other yet, I think." He paused, then there were crashing noises, and she smirked as Andy cursed into the phone. "Shit! Fuck! Stupid ass, can't keep his temper for a fucking – I gotta go, Jon, call me when you've got Jace."

"Got it," she confirmed. "Bye."

Snapping the phone closed, she laughed. Zane had probably cracked in the silence, made some off-hand remark that had pissed Dan off – which wasn't really hard to do – and now the two of them were going at it. She didn't envy Andy at all; deterring Dan from anything was almost impossible, especially when his temper was going.

Flicking the radio back on, cranking up the volume, Jondy sped towards the Mexican border.

* * *

TBC… 


End file.
